The Origins of Madness
by froomiest bandersnatch
Summary: Kind of different than most fics, a story of Erik's mother. How she lived and loved and how she knew her son. My first fanfic, T rating just to b safe.
1. Chapter 1

I look down at the sleeping forms of my son and daughter. They both are so innocent. I was once innocent, but greed and insanity led me down a long, winding, and difficult path. These days the only thing that feels right is to take my poor excuse for a life away, but I realize that so many good things have happened to me, like the birth and existence of my children, as well as the ones that are unbearable just to think about.

My life has been a short one, filled with love, selfishness, mourning, and hate. It is hard to contemplate all these things happening to a person in 29 years of life, but they have happened to me and I relished every one of them at the time. It seemed everything I did was for the right reason; however, most everything I did was so very wrong.

It is said that _la vie est vécue pour aimer_; life is lived to love. It is and it is not; life is lived to experience everything, to feel everything. Sometimes love can be involved, but not always. People expect good things to come to them and as you know, expectations sometimes go awry. I expected that God would grant me a full happy life, well, he certainly granted me a full life, but it was not always happy. To tell the full story of my life would be boring, but to tell the part of my life where I lived and felt and loved, that may be worthwhile.


	2. Chapter 2

Antoine Destler was leading a life of elegance and uncomplicated bliss, until he met me. I was a daydreamer in my early twenties and had high hopes of adventure and romance. The year was 1829, a peaceful year, and the weather was absolutely divine. That afternoon however, was quite muggy and gray, not at all pleasant in my point of view. The street outside his small, but successful business, was quite deserted one afternoon after my lunch, and as it was the easiest way to get back to the theater I turned the corner on to the paved street outside Destler Music Emporium. Antoine was purposely walking fast, as if he was in a great hurry and I, well I told you I was a daydreamer, I was thinking and practicing my ballet routine at the same time. I didn't see poor Antoine walking straight toward me; actually I didn't see him until he knocked me over.

"Oh God," he said and offered me his arm to help me up. I looked at the hand and then at him. I remember thinking how handsome he was and also of how stupid I must have looked weaving all around on the street to the choreography in my head. I was very embarrassed and I suppose the redness sprawling across my cheeks and forehead told him so. He smiled at me as I grasped his arm, but as soon as I was on my feet again, I ran down the street and around the corner as fast as I could. If I had looked around while I was running I would have seen him staring, almost wistfully at my retreating form, but I didn't look back. I never wanted to see him again. I didn't have a clue why I never wanted to see him again, but somehow I knew that my life would be changed, but for the better, I knew not. I was not the sort of person who enjoyed change, but yet, change is what would lead me for the rest of my life.

The next morning I had some free time to ponder everything I had done wrong in practice earlier. This I decided to do on a bench in a pretty public park and as I was screwing up my face in a supreme effort to do a pirouette-step-releve in my head, a voice brought me out of my reverie.

"I am very sorry for knocking you down yesterday." To my horror the voice was that of the handsome man from the incident last afternoon, the very man I never wanted to see again, for reasons unknown even to myself_. I have to say something completely in character, something sweet and womanly. Who am I kidding?_

"I was my fault monsieur. My mind was wandering and my vision was clouded with the fact that I was looking at my feet and not at what was ahead of me." _This wasn't going that bad._

"Nevertheless, I apologize," he said and sat down beside me.

I was getting a little exasperated with him and was wondering whether he was a tad bit lacking in brains because it was pretty obvious whose fault it was. Then I remembered – he was being gentlemanly, but still, couldn't he just admit that I was dancing in the middle of the street and couldn't see him until I walked right into him.

"You shouldn't apologize, it was my fault-"

He began to laugh right in the middle of my angered summary of why it was really _my_ fault. I suppose it was for the better, wasn't I trying to be polite?

"You are one of those few woman who like their opinions to be heard," he said. I opened my mouth, the words inside my mind forming a scathing insult, but he stopped me. I'm guessing the ferocity of my snarl combined with the narrowing of my eyes gave it away that I was angry.

"It was a compliment." He laughed again, and right then my anger disappeared. He was a very nice man, and his laugh had a sweet musical melody to it. I smiled and his face brightened considerably, he actually grinned. As you might have guessed I was very confused. Most my life at the theater had been spent ignoring the ugly, insolent men who whistled and smiled if I walked by. This man was smiling at my smile. This was so completely bizarre.

"My name is Cecile Ruen."

"It is my pleasure Ms. Ruen. I'm Antoine Destler."

"Oh…" I had no idea what to say. This was getting weird.

"So, what are you doing out here?" he enquired. He had the gift of polite conversation that the life in the dregs of Parisian society hadn't given me.

"Me, just thinking about the ghastly mistakes I made during my last ballet practice. I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to ballet-" I had to stop myself. I was dominating the conversation. My ballet instructor had often told me how impolite I was when talking with any other living creature. My fault: talking.

"Go on," Antoine said encouragingly.

"May I ask, without seeming impolite, why do you care about what I do or think?"

This seemed to baffle him, as if he didn't know the answer to the question himself.

"Because I like the way I feel around you, I guess." Wow! That was a stunner. I must have had a surprised and perhaps a bit incredulous look on my face, for he shifted position on the bench beside me. But really, who could blame me? I knew that I was young and knew almost nothing of life outside my sheltered existence at the theater, but that last sentence of his was pure naiveté from a man I thought had a lot more sense than I did.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to, but give me the chance to explain it to you. Will you come to lunch with me?" He asked this with so much hope in his voice, that it almost broke my heart to say no, but it was getting on in time and I didn't want to be late for afternoon practice.

"As flattered as I am," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, "but I am afraid I have to gracefully decline." His face fell and my stomach did a flip-flop of guilt.

"Please?" he asked again, this time his voice faltering with the pain of having to grovel. _I must be cold_, I thought, _for my sake as well as his own._

"Did you know that one of the perks of being a ballet rat is that one does not have to be a lady? So this time, I am not going to gracefully decline. I am going to say no." I stood up and began walking off, but turned and said,

"I _am_ very sorry." I started walking away quickly so that he would not see the tears forming in my eyes. And that was how I left him, looking at his hands with a sad frown etched across his face. I would not see him for a long time after that fine morning in the park.


	3. Chapter 3

The atmosphere of opening night of _Hannibal_ was at best, tense. The managers' tempers were strained and the ballet was, not its best. This also happened to be my debut as the prima ballerina. My palms were sweaty as I stepped on stage and took the opening position. My dance partner Julian, who was beside me, smiled and mouthed "good luck" as the curtain opened.

The dance was not the most beautiful one I could have performed, but it turned out very well. The ballet had one mishap, but it wasn't major and the soprano sang beautifully. At the end we took our final bows and applause rang throughout the theater and roses were thrown onstage as I sank to my knees into a graceful bow. I smiled. My reputation had been made; the first test had been completed successfully.

Backstage was a giant party, everyone was celebrating the opera's success. I spotted Julian through the crowd and beckoned him to me. He ducked under the costume maker's outstretched arm and twisted around the plasterer's obese body, he then tripped over an empty bottle of champagne. I laughed at the thought of the ever so lithe and graceful Julian tripping over something as trivial as a bottle. He jumped to his feet, embarrassment written all over his face and made his way over to where I was standing near the door.

"Ooops!" he said.

"Yeah, ooops is right, let's get out of this mad house." I took him into the foyer and without speaking, led him out of the theater.

"Great job tonight Cecile," Julian said and shook my hand in an exaggerated manner like an over excited fan.

"Oh be quiet! You did bet-" I bumped into someone and turned around to apologize to him when I found myself face to face with none other that Antoine Destler. I had been over half a year since I had last seen him and I didn't know quite what to say.

"Oh, hello." _What kind of a greeting was that?_

"Good evening Ms. Ruen. You danced beautifully tonight." He started to walk away, his head was bowed.

"Monsieur Destler, I am very sorry for what happened last time we saw each other. I didn't have all my feelings sorted out and, well," _shut up _"I was unable to think because I was so confused."

"Its quite alright, I shouldn't have been so forward with how I felt. I'm sorry for confusing you."

"You are apologizing unnecessarily again. It was my fault," he started to open his mouth so I went on heatedly, "and I will not hear anything different. Good night monsieur, I am sorry for being so unladylike."

I walked away with Julian leaving Antoine standing there alone yet again. Poor Julian, who had stood there during the whole exchange of words, had no idea of what anything meant. He was not stupid; he just didn't understand what went on. I stopped and looked around for somewhere to sit. I spotted a bench and plopped exhaustedly onto it. Julian followed suit.

"It is a long, weird, and utterly bewildering story to tell and I am not planning on telling it," I said as I watched Julian's eyes start to probe me for details. He had the most exquisite eyes. During the day, they seemed gray with a tinge of green on the outer iris, but now in the pale moonlight, they looked a velvety black and I couldn't help staring at them. I realized what I was doing and looked away, abashed.

"It's okay, you know. You can tell me, if you want to." He looked at me with such kindness and such understanding, that I had to look up from the silk, evening slippers I was wearing. Even in the dark, his face seemed bright.

"I don't really want to talk about it." I looked at my hands, trying to focus my mind on anything but my feelings for Julian. The stars. I had to think about the stars. They looked so beautiful reflected in Julian's eyes. Nope, I wasn't focusing hard enough. He reached out and touched my mass of long, mahogany locks. I looked up again and saw the emotion in his eyes that he usually wore only when he was dancing. Quelling my thoughts about Julian seemed impossible now.

His hand stroked my silky hair and then he stopped. He tore his gaze from my own and abruptly took his hand away from my head. His face must have been burning, because it was very red. Suddenly he stood and walked away quickly. I jumped to my feet and chased him down the street. If I was not going to take this chance to tell him how much I enjoyed being with him, dancing with him, and looking at him, _especially_ looking at him, then when would I?

When I finally reached his form I grabbed his hand. He turned around, affliction glazing his eyes. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him in a quick, crushing embrace. Then, ever so deftly, he cupped my chin and tilted it up so our eyes were locked. He lifted his hand and touched my cheek and I felt his other arm wrap itself around my waist.

I was too distracted just staring at him to notice these details that soon came apparent when his lips touched mine in a gentle kiss. I am afraid that my eyes opened wide in shock and that may have been the reason he pulled away from me.

"I should not have done that."

I kissed him. I had to make him stop talking; it was taking too much time. He returned the kiss with such fervor that I broke off and said,

"You must have a lot of experience doing this with naïve little girls such as myself."

"Not as much experience as some." And his lips captured mine once more and that was the last time I remember talking. We were both so captive to each other's wants and desires that I am afraid that we stood in the abandoned street for quite a while until we finally broke off and smiled sheepishly at one another.

We wandered back toward the theater. No words were spoken, but our thoughts could have been heard by the whole world. We were both completely, utterly infatuated with each other. It was one of the happiest moments of my entire life and nothing could have spoiled it for me. We walked back hand-in-hand, wearing the usual goofy lovesick smiles that I usually see gracing the other ballet rats after they have meet someone they think is handsome, as we tripped along.


	4. Chapter 4

Emilia, a stunning young woman with dozens of men tugging at her heels, tapped on my shoulder at the New Years Ball approximately a year after Julian and I had kissed for the first time underneath the stars. I was quite a bit surprised, for Emilia was a girl who very rarely spoke to me. She mostly kept to herself, but she was a terrific dancer.

"I was wondering if I could dance with Julian?" I nodded without actually hearing the question because I saw a familiar head weaving around in the crowd. I began to walk away and she elaborated.

"Only if it is alright with you, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable…so?"

"Uncomfortable with what?" I asked. I felt awful for just forgetting she was right beside me after she made such an uncharacteristic approach.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I wasn't really paying attention. Could you repeat the question?"

Emilia smiled and spoke quietly enough, but with such grace and confidence that I was mildly taken aback.

"I wondered if you would be so kind to allow me to dance with your fiancé?"

"Of course, it was very nice of you to ask."

"_Merci, mon amie,_" and she scampered delicately off. I returned to my crowd watching and was disappointed to see that the face I had thought I had recognized had disappeared.

A new song started up and I found myself partner-less. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, enjoying the slow, sultry music that caressed my ears. I opened my eyes and saw Julian dancing with Emilia. Immediately I knew something wasn't right. Why was Julian so close to her and why was Emilia whispering something in his ear?

I couldn't move. My body was so stiff with suppressed anger and horror that I just stood and shook. Their lips had touched lightly, and then Julian pulled her close and began to kiss her so fervently that she seemed taken aback, at first, then she returned the favor. When they both stopped kissing and looked around, Julian's eyes met mine and my feet were finally able to make their move.

I ran. I must have pushed through hundreds of people, but I didn't care. I was hurt and alone. As I ran sightlessly out of the room, my tears blurring my vision, a voice hailed me, but I didn't stop, I couldn't stop. I was under the impression that it must have been Julian who had called me, but it wasn't. The person who had called my name was waiting at the top of the stairs and my clumsy self collided with him so forcefully that we toppled down the staircase together, a mess of arms and legs.

Antoine Destler lay beside me breathing heavily at the foot of the steps. I was so winded, what from running and falling down a flight of stairs, that my breast heaved from lack of oxygen. Antoine sat up and looked at me.

"Ms. Ruen, I afraid we will have to stop running into each other like this." If he meant it as a kindly joke it didn't work. As I struggled to stand up, my evening dress making it very difficult, I choked back a cry of anguish and nodded. Then without warning I flung my arms around him and began to sob violently.

He must have been uncomfortable, for he just stood there as I used him for a handkerchief to wipe my tears away. He awkwardly began to pat my back in such a comforting way that a new storm of tears broke lose onto his nice wool suit.

When my cries finally receded into small snuffles, I stepped away from him smiled weakly. My lips were still trembling, but my sobs were under control.

"I am very sorry for knocking you down the stairs, ruining your expensive suit, and most of all for the many times I have hurt you in the past." I took a step back and turned around, trying to compose myself. Why was this so difficult?

"I will admit that you have hurt me Ms. Ruen, and I also admit that I can feel the bruises stiffening from the most recent fall as we speak, but I still can never get over how every time I see you, you get more lovely, opinionating, and most of all, more perfect."

Shocked as I was, I remembered that every time I saw him, I had beat him down a little more and he never stopped being kind and considerate, where as most men would swear at me and push me to the curb.

I looked at my hands, unable to think of anything to say. I was still smarting from Julian's betrayal and now I was faced with the kindest man I had ever known telling me how he felt about my humble self.

Suddenly I heard footsteps and found myself staring up at a harried looking Julian at the top of the stairs. I whispered,

"Hide me," and Antoine took my hand and we raced into a side room where we descended a flight of stairs leading to who knows where. Julian's choked voice calling for me to answer him echoed around the hallways. He sounded so pathetic. I breathed a sigh of relief when his voice faded away. When we finally stopped running, I stared at my tear-streaked face in the stained glass of a small chapel.

"Would you please tell me what that was all about?"

"Julian…he…he," I blinked back more tears, but they escaped and cascaded down my face. I wiped my facade, but to no avail; they still came, but the noise of sobs didn't echo throughout the room. Instead, my tears were silent and the room was thick with the essence of my misery.

"He's gone and gotten himself something new to amuse himself with." I smiled underneath my tears and calmed my breathing.

Although I still smarted from the pain Julian had inflicted upon my heart, I could not deny that Antoine looked magnificent when he was in a fierce temper about something. It gave me a strange sense of justice to see him curl his fists and grimace at the thought of someone causing me pain. Even though I wanted him to punch the pulp out of Julian, a second part of me wanted to exact my own revenge.

The sense of independence that was characteristic in my personality screeched for release. It was hard for me not to give in to its call, but I knew that I must keep control of my feelings, not only because I knew that I might regret them soon afterward, but because I knew that I could hurt someone I cared about.

Yes, it was true. I still cared for Julian. Even though he betrayed my trust, broke my heart, and then added insult to injury by trying to apologize, he, the person and the memory had touched a tender chord in my heart and as hard as I was trying to hate him, I couldn't. But, I still felt the need to punish him for the heartache he caused me.

"I will…I'm going to…I'm really going to smash…I can't do anything can I?" Antoine asked me. He saw my determined expression and raised a hand to his should and squeezed, trying to quell his anger, although I was quite flattered by his indignation on my behalf. I then felt the need to reward him for his chivalry. I didn't even know what to reward him with…I just felt the need to do something. Then it hit me.

The urge I had been fighting since we both fell down the stairs could not be repressed any longer. I kissed Antoine full on the lips and broke off quickly.

"Thank you," I murmured against his smile, "for every kind word you have said to me and for every time you have helped me."

"You are very welcome."

"That's it?" I asked, a little disappointed in his reaction. I had expected a little something more enthusiastic.

"I am not going to take advantage of you, especially in the distressed state you are in at the moment." Always the gentleman, Antoine was.

"I'm not asking you to take advantage of me; I'm asking you to take care of me. There is a difference." I didn't even know why I was fighting his claims. Like I said before, it was an unexpected urge, and I suppose the equally unexpected attraction came soon after the unexpected urge.

"Why me?" His clueless nature at this moment made me want to smack him, lovingly, of course.

"Because it's what you've done since we've met." Wow, that surprised me. Who knew I could be romantic?

"I repeat, why me?" I thought he had gotten over his habit of saying the wrong thing when I first met him. I was getting exasperated with him again. Why does he always make telling him things so difficult?

"Because I…I like having you near me. It makes me feel safe and secure. I don't know how or why, but seeing you makes me never want to be near you, but I always end up at your side." He started to open his mouth to say something, but I wouldn't allow him to speak. This needed to be said. "I am drawn to you."

I left the room before I could say anything else. I then stopped just outside the door and leaned against the wall, softly letting my head fall onto the cold stone. After replaying the whole conversation in my head I peeked back inside. Antoine stood near the window and stared out it. His reflection in the glass facing me showed that he was looking extremely pensive. I was sure that he would not come after me, but to my complete and utter surprise, he began to walk purposely toward the door, so I took off quickly down the hallway.

He caught up with me and took my hand. I looked down at our entwined hands with surprise, and to my own confusion, delight. Before I could tug my fingers from his grasp, he let go. He then grasped my shoulders and took one hand and placed it under my chin and tilted my head up toward his. He stared into my eyes with something I could not identify burning in his irises. Years later, I would remember that look as the one he would always look at me with, a look of deep, satisfying, undefined love, but as of then, I had very little clue as to what the look could mean.

Although our faces were not very close, I could feel his hot breath against my visage. I was blushing, I knew I was. My face must have been the color of a tomato, but at that moment I didn't care. I slowed inched my face towards his and kissed him again. This time, I did not break off quickly. I slowly began to explore every inch of his mouth and he obliged by doing the same to mine.

So lost were we to our burning desires, we did not realize that people were approaching from the now open, ornate double doors. I reluctantly ended our kiss and smiled shyly. I then stepped away, eyes still fixed on his face. A slow smile spread across his features. It was then when I turned and began walking into the crowd emptying out into the streets. When I stepped into the night, breathing in the sweet, fresh midnight air, I heard a gleeful shout emanating from the open doors. I laughed to myself as I walked to the flat Julian and I now shared. Poor Julian, he had no idea what I had in store for him.


End file.
